


L Is For Lustful

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blackouts, Developing Relationship, F/M, Making Out, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8260538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: Wanda and Clint make the most of their time together when the lights go out.





	

"Oh, hell."

Clint said it when the lights flickered, then said it again when the whole room fell into darkness. 

"Oh, _hell_."

Blackouts were rare at the compound, since the computer system was almost infallible at keeping the power on. Almost. But right now it was pitch black, since even the PC that sat on the desk had gone dark instead of giving off its usual faint glow. He put out both hands and worked his way towards the door, hearing Wanda turn around in the swivel chair in front of the comp. Sometimes the locking mechanisms didn't kick in when the power died, it depended on how fast it happened. He bumped his knuckles on the handle, tested it. Then tested it again. 

"Locked?" Damn if she didn't sound amused.

"Locked."

"Mmm."

Wanda _was_ amused, but only because she realized the incongruity of the situation. Barton was fearless in battle, she'd seen his courage at close quarters, but he was still a little wary of her. Of being alone with her, specifically. The chair creaked as she got to her feet, then made a quiet bumping sound against the desk when she pushed it backwards. A dull red glow began to emit from her left hand, and she was conscientious in keeping her distance. The room they'd given her was large enough that he wasn't right in her space and _she_ wasn't right in his. 

Clint found a flashlight in the red-tinged dimness, and a beam of light cut through the gloom before he checked his watch. Ten forty-four at night, he realized, and he blinked to erase the spots from squinting through the glare of the light flashing off of the face of his timepiece. It could be thirty minutes or a couple of hours before the lights came back on. The archer turned the flashlight off, reached behind him to find the edge of the bed in the blackness. His calves hit it, and he sat down with a muted grunt. 

She studied the vague outline of him in the crimson light coming from her hand, then closed her fingers in a loose fist, extinguishing the faint light. She liked him because he was helping her acclimate to things; not just to life as an Avenger but to a world beyond laboratories and quests for revenge. To a world that was complicated and often frustrating, but one that was also exciting. In more ways than one.

"You are afraid to be locked up with me?"

"No." 

He said it at once, because 'fear' wasn't the right word for it. 'Apprehensive' might have been a better fit, but the apprehension was largely based on the heaviness of the air when she looked at him. Ridiculous. Absurd, even, given the age difference, but Wanda was like gravity, pulling him in. And Clint was willing - maybe - to be pulled in, even without knowing if it would hurt or not. He felt the bed sag as she sat down, and in the dark he turned, imagining he could see her. There was no red glow when she touched his shoulder.

"How long until the electricity comes back?" Wanda's fingers plucked at the bracers on his left arm, and he reminded himself to take them off next time. The fine hairs on his forearm had lifted, and he mentally gauged how much time had passed since he'd seen his watch. She'd stripped down to a tank top and pajama pants because she'd been headed for bed after he left. Clint made a pleased noise when she touched his chest through his T shirt.

"Long enough. C'mere."

His nose bumped hers, both because it was so dark and because Wanda hadn't quite mastered the art of 'where do the noses go?', but when his mouth found hers she let out a soft sound. Kissing was new, and Clint's mouth was warm and firm beneath the slight scruff. There were things that were just as valuable as learning to utilize her powers correctly. And he was helping her cope.

"Barton..."

He suspected that she was a virgin, though she'd never said as much, and so he was half-forcing himself not to take it too far. He would not capitalize on her inexperience, no matter how much he liked it when she squirmed against him. She'd been exploited enough. Besides, there _were_ other things he could do to make her shake and tremble. He got an arm around her as she kneaded his shoulders, finger-walked the other hand up the inside of her thigh.

"Gorgeous girl."

She wished she could see his face, but perhaps it was better, this groping around in the dark. With the lights on, she might be too much of a girl for him, but in the dark she could be bold. He was compact and sinewy, the hard muscles of his back and shoulders barely giving way under her hands. Wanda's neck arched for more of his mouth, and Clint obliged her by scoring the soft flesh with the edges of his teeth. One of her hands moved to the back of his head, where her fingers latched onto his hair, and the other one slipped lower until it managed to wedge itself between their bodies, cupping his sudden erection.

" _Wanda_."

He'd never said her name that way before. No one had ever said her name that way. She knew the mechanics of sex, the joining of bodies for the purpose of making babies, and that people took pleasure in it. But Clint's hot breath against the delicate shell of her ear had Wanda wanting to rip off all of her clothes right there. In the blackness of her room, she let out a ragged laugh.

He could feel her nipples against his chest, through both of their shirts, and Jesus but she was rubbing between his legs now. And his body wasn't helping matters, because his hips had started to rock in time to her enthusiastic, if unschooled, efforts. But it was the noise she made, that laugh, that almost tore his control asunder, yanked the restraint right out of him. Clint made himself grab her wrist, deliberately took her hand away. There was a visible tendon in the side of his neck, and there might have been a vein pulsing in his forehead, not to mention a similar one farther south. She trusted him, trusted him enough to allow him this close, and he would not - **would not** \- abuse that.

"We're gonna slow down." 

His voice was strangled, and she whined, a high-pitched noise. She could still feel the imprint of his cock against her palm, the way he'd thrust into her touch, and she was drunk on it. Flushed, dizzy, Wanda clutched at Clint's hair, and his mouth found hers for a slow, careful, almost romantic kiss. She let herself be soothed, because he hadn't let go of her yet.

"I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for." He said it practically into her mouth, and despite her almost unbearably aroused state, Wanda was touched. She pressed her forehead against his, straining to see the archer's eyes, and he smoothed his hands down her flanks. When she trembled, he kissed her again, and she felt him smile against her lips.

"Please." She didn't even know what she was asking him for, just _something_ to ease the ache.

He made the 'mmm' noise this time, and when his thumbs hooked underneath the elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms Wanda instinctively lifted her ass. His hard-on had wilted slightly. She mouthed his shoulder through the cloth of his shirt. His calluses felt delightful against the insides of her thighs. 

She was as wet as a river when Clint touched her, tracing the outline of her mound through the thin cotton of her underwear, and he felt her arch towards him when he palmed the dampness. His other hand flattened against the base of her spine, both to steady her and to hold her still. His self-discipline was still in question right now, chewing at the leash he'd put on it. He tugged her underwear down, exposing her to the open air.

Wanda's mouth opened when he first started using his fingers, but no sound came out. He was still bracing her, and her thighs parted further as her left hand clamped down tight on his right shoulder. He could feel the strength in her touch, that despite not using her powers Wanda had a hell of a grip. Would the grip of her thighs be even tighter?

He fingered her, and within two minutes she was bucking against his hand as much as she could given the way his other hand was clamped on the small of her back. Humping his fingers, and it was like pain, but it also felt so good that it dwarfed every other pleasure Wanda had ever known. Her eyes flashed red, the way they did when she was about to zap somebody, and his thumb worked faster.

"Barton." His name was garbled, and Clint smiled even though he knew she wouldn't see it. He was thinking about the taste of her, but that could wait. She was a gorgeous girl, _his_ gorgeous girl, even if it was only in the dark. 

She came with a tearful yell, fingers digging so hard into his deltoid muscle that he knew he'd be bruised in the morning, but it was worth it to feel her go boneless against him, sagging into his embrace as she tried to breathe. He kissed her cheek, then her forehead. Easing her through the final tremors. 

"You will stay?"

She asked it quietly, her voice almost drugged, and she thought she felt him hesitate. No one knew they'd been spending time together this way, and anyone who saw Clint exiting her room after the lights came back on would raise an eyebrow. Especially Rogers. Wanda lifted her head, put her hand out on instinct and found his sharply-defined jaw. She would not ask again.

"If you want."

He shouldn't confuse her. Give her ideas - illusions - about what this was. But he _liked_ being with her, and it wasn't really an illusion when he'd just had his hand between her thighs. Clint retreated enough to pull his T shirt off over his head, then finally took the damned bracers off. 

Wanda stretched out on the bed, not bothering to pull the sheet over herself. A very small shiver passed through her when he joined her, and she felt the heat of his palm on her bare hip for a moment before he took his hand away. He kissed her shoulder, a less chaste kiss than the one he'd pressed to her brow after her climax.

"I like you very much, Clint Barton."

It didn't occur to him until the next morning that that was the first time she'd used his given name. And it didn't bother him as much as he thought it should have.


End file.
